Don't Cry Over Me
by Captain Tomate
Summary: Sweden is crying. Sweden never cries. Not around Finland or anyone else, at least. But, here he is; kneeling at Finland's feet with the bandages and weeping like a little kid. [Light SuFin, semi-historical]


**A/N: Just a short thing I did for a prompt fill on Tumblr. Kind of historic, I suppose. Alright, that's really all I have to say. Enjoy the story!**

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 **Pairing:** _(Light) SuFin_

 **Prompt:** _Person A, the more stoic/serious of the two, treating a severe injury that Person B sustained. Person B notices A's hands shaking and tries to crack a joke, which only serves to send Person A bursting into tears over nearly losing B._

 **Warnings:** _Semi-historical, crying Swede_

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 _1140_

 _Finnish Medical Base_ _[exact location unknown]_

"Stay still, won't hurt much."

Finland hisses, recoiling as Sweden starts to wash his wound with Neosporin (it was some kind of new salve, from what Sweden had explained to him). The cream doesn't really hurt, but the area is still extremely sensitive from when Russia (or the _"USSR,"_ as he now calls himself) had shot him. At least the Winter War was finally over; Finland was going to go back home and the Soviet Union was out of the League of Nations. Hopefully that commie wouldn't bother him or his people again.

"I was scared, y'know." Sweden mumbles, wrapping up the now disinfected wound with white gauze. Finland doesn't respond, just staring at the injury on his arm. Why would Sweden be scared? He knows that Finland, despite being very small and unassuming for a country, can handle himself when he has his favorite rifle in hand.

So, the smaller country blinks, looking at his larger companion. Sweden's face is still as emotionless as ever, but there's... _something_ Finland can't place behind the crystal blue eyes. As soon as the injury on his bicep is dealt with, the larger Nordic motions for Finland to take off his coat.

"I know there's somethin' hurt there. You were clutchin' your chest when we came home." Sweden explains after Finland flushes red. "Need ta take care of it, 'fore it gets infected."

This is the most Sweden has ever talked in one visit, Finland thinks as he unbuttons his uniform and lets it fall to the ground. The bandages he had received from his camp were already soiled with drying blood. Sweden's usual stoic frown tilts even more downwards as he unpeels the bandages (Finland tries not to scream as each soiled piece of linen uncoils from him and splats on the ground; it felt like his own blood had glued the fabric to him) to reveal a much larger wound.

Sweden makes a pained little noise, kind of like a whine, when he sees the injury staining Finland's chest. Really, it's not just one injury, but several bullet wounds. Most of them are already healing, since he's a nation, but it's still ugly. The some of the skin had turned black, but its slowly turning purple and it will be back to a healthy peach color in a few months when any damage on his land is fixed up.

When Sweden turns back to the First Aid box, Finland is surprised to see that the Swede's large, weathered hands are...shaking? They're little tremors, barely noticeable to someone without a trained eye, but Finland isn't know as _Tarkkakatseinen ampuja_ for nothing. Still, he had never seen Sweden shake before, not over him or something as small as an injury of war. Sweden never even trembled as Russia stared him down, taking Finland away after the Finnish War.

"Hey, Sve. It's not so bad." Finland says, trying to sooth his friend. He puts on a bright smile, giggling despite the pain it brings to his gut. "I was good target practice for Russia's men." Yeah, the humor is morbid, but the Fin is really grasping for straws right now. He hates seeing other people upset, especially his friends.

But, as soon as the words fall from his mouth, Finland regrets the sorry attempt at a joke. Sweden's eyes are shadowed, his teeth gritted and his hands clutching a large roll of bandages as they tremble even harder. Really, Sweden is shaking so badly that Finland starts to worry if the Swede's country is experiencing an earthquake or something.

He's stopped from asking if anything of the sort is happening, though, as he watches as a drop of water slide down Sweden's pale cheek, followed by another. And another. And ten more. Until the tears are falling so fast that they are rivers. Finland's purple eyes widen in a mix of confusion and surprise, witnessing (for the first time) Sweden breaking down.

Sweden is crying. Sweden _never cries_. Not around Finland or anyone else, at least. But, here he is, kneeling at Finland's feet with the bandages and weeping like a little kid.

"Sve...?" Finland is afraid to disturb the Swede. He knows that Sweden isn't very good with controlling his emotions, every country knows that, and they never know when not to bother him during one of his "moods." Still, Finland finally raises a hand and wipes away Sweden's tears with gentle fingers. He lets them linger on Sweden's face, getting soaked by still cascading tears.

His other hand comes up to the larger blonde's face, cupping it. Sweden leans into Finland's touch, before his forehead finally touches the Fin's upper chest, avoiding the ugly wound that had brought on the tears. "I was...scared of losin' you, Fin...So scared..." The whisper is barely understandable, what with that strange type of mumbling speech that Sweden has, and Finland is surprised not to hear the signature nickname of "m'wife" that the towering Swede had given him.

"Oh, Sve..." Finland doesn't know what he's doing, but he leans down and kisses Sweden's damp cheek. His forehead. The tip of his nose. Finland presses his lips to almost every area of Sweden's face, except for the lips, and then he cradles the man's head in comforting arms. "Don't cry over me." He murmurs as he feels Sweden begin to relax in his arms, the man's tears halting and his hitching breaths slowly evening out.

Sweden had cried himself to sleep. Finland feels guilty for that.

Finland can't hoist Sweden's large body up onto the medical cot where he sits, but he knows that the blonde had slept on much harder surfaces before and that plush carpeting wouldn't be so bad. So, he lays Sweden down on the ground and attempts to reach for the bandages that Sweden had left laying on the floor. After he (somehow) manages to grab them, Finland can't help but to wonder how much Sweden means to him as he wraps up his aching torso.

He wouldn't say that he had _feelings_ for Sweden, Finland knows that he does experience something when with the stoic blonde; a kind of watered down, healthy europhra, but it was mixed with a slight intimidation and fear that he didn't understand. Yes, he had been afraid of Sweden at the start and he still had little episodes of fear when the Swede did something unexpected, but Finland felt like he _knew_ Sweden too well to just have a blind fear of him.

Finland sighs, maneuvering himself so that he can lay down on the cot more comfortably. He doesn't have the energy for this. He'll think this all over in the morning, when they'll finally go back to Sweden's house (his own place had been destroyed by Russia's men at the beginning of the war and the repairs would take a while) and sort of the jumbled mess in his head.

Violet eyes fluttered closed. Finland let out a sigh, edging out the pain coming from both his lower chest and heart, before falling into a dreamless sleep.


End file.
